


ATM

by SBG



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 07:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SBG/pseuds/SBG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A simple transaction takes a complicated turn for Danny ... and for Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ATM

**Author's Note:**

> For the **ABC H/C challenge** over on LJ's [Hawaii 50 HC](http://hawaii-50-hc.livejournal.com/) comm. Prompt was W for withdrawal, and LdyAnne was kind enough to clear out a boatload of typos and confused sentences for me...

Steve knew it wasn’t his fault this had happened. He should be able to compartmentalize, but even when he’d been active duty, the ability to separate from the turmoil around him had been easier to fake than to actually accomplish. His insides always got torn up, no matter what it looked like on the outside. Since taking the job on the task force, surrounded by these people, the outside edifice was becoming more difficult to maintain and the insides? Well, they seemed to tear more easily than they used to as well. 

There sure as hell didn’t seem to be much room for rationality when it came to the nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach right now. His eyes were dry as the Mojave and undoubtedly bloodshot. What he needed was to shut them for a while, and he’d been told as much multiple times by others. He couldn’t do that. He could not rest until this case was done. Steve tapped the screen and the scene started for him again, on two of the monitors. Staring at the footage, he was torn between gratefulness that the bank had recently upgraded their cameras to HD and nausea at how clear everything was. He saw the laugh lines at the corners of the man’s eyes, deep lighter-colored creases against the tan face, the strands of hair blown out of place by a moderate breeze, and the wryly exasperated expression as he began his transaction. He knew exactly what the look was all about.

The man had only been there withdrawing cash because he’d lost a stupid bet.

Steve refused to blink, ready for the man’s slight flinch, the initial cue something was wrong. He couldn’t look away when the man’s shoulders tensed, his shirt – a nice, tailored Oxford – stretched so taut across his chest a few of the buttons looked like they might pop off, as he moved his right arm and reached down and slightly back. Stared as that expression went from wry to wary to angry, and bright eyes flicked directly at the ATM camera. Steve _had_ to look away, then, as if those eyes were making an accusation not at the assholes that put the man in the hospital, but through time and camera at him for his part in all of this. 

_“You’re not going to welsh on me, are you, Danny?” he said with a grin he knew Danny would call vainglorious or pompous or some other unnecessarily large word that just meant smug. He threw a look at an amused Chin, embracing the smugness. He knew he made it look good. “I won fair and square.”_

_“Of course I’m not,” Danny said, glaring. His shoulders were stiff and his irritability exaggerated and, like Steve and smugness, he made it look better than it had any right to be. “I seriously doubt there was anything fair or square about your victory, but I am an honorable person. I stick by my wagers, even the obviously rigged ones. It’s kind of like honor amongst thieves, if you think about it.”_

_“I have no problem taking your honor to the bank. Pay up.” Steve held out his right hand, palm up. “C’mon.”_

_“What do I look like, a cash machine? I don’t carry that kind of money around. I’ll get your ill-gotten gains on the way home and you’ll get it tomorrow morning.”_

_“Ill-gotten gains,” Steve said, and laughed._

Ultimately, though, he couldn’t not watch. Steve returned his attention to the silent horror film. This time, like all the others, he was almost positive Danny was going to mouth something at the camera, give them the smallest of leads to follow more quickly than the evidence he’d been careful to collect while they were… shit. Steve leaned forward in anticipation of Danny’s message, like a damned goldfish bumping against the glass bowl over and over. Danny didn’t say anything to help them. He never did. The video wasn’t ever going to change. There had to come a time he’d give it up, but he wasn’t ready and he knew it was messed up. Normally, he’d be tearing up the island and he didn’t know why he couldn’t seem to do that here, for Danny of all people. It was such crap.

He heard a heavy sigh somewhere off to his left, just as Danny shifted on screen. He ignored it and the presence of someone by his side in real time, kept his focus on Danny. They’d surmised Danny had been instructed to raise his hands at this point, by the way he moved his shoulders and biceps. Initially it was at waist level, but then Danny snarled angrily at someone off to the right and his hands went higher. One of them partially obscured the camera. He could see Danny’s life line on his palm, and fuck if it didn’t look too short at that angle.

“Steve,” Chin said, voice gentled to the tone one might use when trying to coax a wounded animal out of a corner, “you know we’ve already pulled what we can off of that.”

Which was nothing. Not one damn thing, and he still had no explanation for why he couldn’t stop watching, or at least not one he was quite prepared to think about. Not now, except this was a reminder to him that not now could easily become never and he didn’t want to think about that, either. He gritted his teeth, ignored Chin and his unintentionally patronizing manner. Danny’s hands were down again, his eyes now narrowed and aimed at the keypad. After the third time watching, Steve had been able to read the words “daily limit” on Danny’s lips, but had gotten nothing else. He cursed his partner’s tendency to talk fast and sometimes nearly indecipherably even when standing right next to him, because if there was a message in there, no one had caught it yet. He winced at the large hand that cuffed Danny on the side of the head then, the segue from a simple robbery to a violent assault.

“I know, Chin, but there has to be something we’ve missed. These guys had to have screwed up somewhere.”

The assholes shoved Danny against the ATM, his face and forehead distorted as they came too close to the camera. Steve watched him struggle but not with any real force, yet. It wasn’t until the bare flash of Danny’s badge in the right corner of the screen that the altercation began in earnest. Instead of causing a retreat, proof of Danny being a cop had spurred a flurry of blows to his head and neck from both sides, revealing there were at least two attackers. It was difficult to tell if there were more; from what they could see, the assailants wore the same dark hooded sweatshirts, nondescript ball caps pulled low to obscure facial features. T-shirts pulled up to cover the lower half of their faces. The frenetic anger evident even on a black and white, limited focus camera led him to believe they might be dealing with tweakers, smart enough to understand camera placement but out of it enough to not have true emotional control. And, shit, once they started whaling on Danny, he had fought so damn hard. 

Abruptly and before one of them pulled the knife, the screen went dark. He grunted in frustration, reached out to re-start it, and was blocked by Chin bodily.

“They probably did screw up,” Chin said reasonably. “But not during Danny’s attack. Maybe you’d have better luck on one of the other tapes. Maybe instead of focusing on this one….”

Anger coiled rapid and sudden in his gut, and just as quickly unraveled when he looked and saw nothing but pure worry in Chin’s eyes. 

“It’s Danny,” Steve said, and he didn’t care at how pathetic he sounded or how Chin flinched just a little. “Chin, it’s _Danny_.”

“You think I don’t know, Steve? You’ve got to pull it together, _brah_. This isn’t you.”

Chin put a hand on his shoulder, and yes, of course. He was fucked up and fucking up because of how he couldn’t contain his guilt. Danny would never have been there if not for him. Steve nodded, closed eyes that had gone from desert dry to wet just like that. He leaned heavily on the table, bracing himself up on shaky arms. Chin was wrong, though. This was one hundred percent him, but this side of him wasn’t usually on such open display. Those closest to him had all seen the cracks. It seemed pretty fitting to him that Danny was responsible for exposing one the size of a chasm. The look of concern on Chin’s face was a warning that he couldn’t fall into that giant hole. Not yet. He had to put the mask back in place. He’d indulged in wallowing for too long, and if Danny were here, his ass would be getting kicked. Shit, Danny. He could withdraw from everyone when this was done, take the mask off again when it was just him. 

When Danny was better.

“Yeah, okay.” Steve took a deep breath and stood straighter. “You or Kono find anything?”

It turned out HPD had been working on a string of ATM muggings for a month and a half prior to Danny’s attack, each of the incidents escalating in the level of violence perpetrated. The latest victim had gotten a cracked rib and a sprained wrist from when his arm had been wrenched back. The robberies had been below Five-0’s pay grade, and he couldn’t honestly say he’d paid much attention to anything outside of their own caseload lately to even know about them through the news. All of the victims had been smallish in stature, men and women both, and pegged as easy marks. The early muggings had happened late at night, the more recent ones edging closer to daylight hours. 

Danny had stopped for cash near his apartment at seven-fifteen and twenty-three seconds. If he’d just gone to the one down the street. If he hadn’t taken off his damned shield and gun. If Steve had never made that stupid bet with him. Each _if_ made him angrier. 

“Not much more than HPD already put together, but they’re still on it as well and have reprioritized it from minor inconvenience to potential big trouble.” Chin’s frown deepened, as if somehow displeased it had taken a cop getting taken down for there to be movement on the case. “There wasn’t an immediately apparent pattern of ATMs hit, but Fong’s got a guy working on some major mathematical equation or whatever. We might be able to tighten the search area based on where they’re hitting people. They’re probably not venturing far from home. And you know he’s also got what HPD collected from Danny before we got to the hospital. It’s only a matter of time.”

If the tape were still running, Danny would be a bleeding heap on the sidewalk and the camera would show nothing of him. Instead, Steve would be looking at a clear shot of the street. Minutes before that, though, nearly a full day ago in real time, Danny would have been giving as good as he got until sheer size difference, dirty fighting and a blade felled him. Even as it had disintegrated to that, Danny had had the presence of mind to get solid evidence from at least one of the guys. He was positive Danny would be dead if someone hadn’t driven by and spooked the perps. Steve’s stomach flipped. According to the first responder’s report, Danny’s badge had been tossed in the gutter, ten steps up the street, the same way they’d left Danny, like so much garbage.

“Speaking of time,” Chin said. “You should take some. You look awful.”

“No,” Steve said. “No, Chin. I need to catch these guys.”

Chin stared at him for a few seconds, unhappy and not looking much more with it than Steve felt. His hair was a mess and his ugly print shirt was wrinkled in its second day of wear, his eyes weary. He nodded slowly, but his frown deepened.

“Steve, a few hours of sleep will only help with that.”

“No.”

“All right. You know I had to try.” Chin sighed and ran a hand through his rumpled hair. “But it’s not just the lack of rest and you torturing yourself with watching this over and over that’s got me worried. You haven’t even been to see him.” 

Of course Chin could distill it down to the guilt factor all so quickly, and Steve found he didn’t have anywhere to go in the face of those words, the absolution he knew wasn’t needed because it wasn’t his fault. It was a series of unfortunate events, like in those books Grace was reading. It was. It just didn’t feel that way, because. Because it was _Danny_. But Chin was partly wrong about this as well. Steve had seen Danny. He’d been right there as his partner was wheeled into recovery, too still and too small and too bruised. It was because he’d seen Danny that way that he couldn’t rest now. 

“You know what happened wasn’t your fault.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve said, and he wouldn’t convince the most naive of people. “I know it wasn’t my fault.”

For a moment, it looked like Chin was going to call him on his bullshit, but before it came to that, they were interrupted. Kono flew out of her office, phone pressed against her ear and an intense expression of angry determination on her tired face. She waved her free arm at both of them, energy now overtaking whatever fatigue she’d likely been experiencing just the same as the rest of them.

A jolt of adrenaline shot through Steve as well, and he shoved everything else aside when Kono ended her call and smiled at them.

“Guys, we owe Fong a drink every night for a month,” Kono said, breathless. “The rush he put on the hair and skin Danny managed to snag during his attack came back. It’s from two assailants, one’s not in the system. But the other – we’ve got a match. We’ve got one of them.”

Where there was one, there was a path to the rest.

H50H50H50

He didn’t know why they always ran, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Steve shouted at Chin and Kono, trusted they’d handle themselves appropriately, and shimmied out the window after the guy. Chin had given him silent warnings all the way over, pointed looks at the obvious way his adrenaline was manifesting in clenching and unclenching hands and probably a fiery light in his eye. Yes, he wanted these guys caught. Yes, the thought of beating the shit out of them one at a time as they were apprehended had crossed his mind, more than once. Yes, also, he was controlled enough to not actually screw this up. He knew the best course of action was to do it all by the book, and as long as he didn’t think about Danny lying battered and sedated at Queen’s, he could do that.

But the second Ronald Weems bolted at the sight of three cops at his door, he gave Steve just what he’d needed: an excuse for a judicious amount of physical force.

“Stop. Don’t. Come back,” he muttered under his breath as he easily kept Weems in sight.

Weems was a big guy, but young and fit, and on a good day he might have given him a decent chase. Steve could see the man was pulling to the left a little, arm held snug against his side, and he would be lying if that didn’t paint a virtual target on the guy. He didn’t push too hard, let Weems get a block away before he kicked it into high gear to actually close the gap. He plowed into Weems’ left side in a powerful tackle, enjoyed the way he thudded against the sidewalk and the pained grunt of breath leaving his lungs. 

Steve flipped and rolled, putting himself on top. He straddled Weems, who instantly started bucking and fighting with the strength of desperation. Just like Danny had fought _him_. Steve leaned in, forearm pressing against his windpipe. A visceral feeling of satisfaction coiled through him at the swollen nose and blackened eyes Weems was sporting. _Attaboy, Danno,_ he thought.

“Do it. Put up a fight. I want you to give me a reason.” It was the reminder of his partner that had Steve taunting Weems even as he applied more pressure. “Come on.”

“I didn’t do nothing, man.”

“That cop you robbed, assaulted and tried to kill yesterday? Remember him?” Steve put his weight into it. “He’s my partner.”

“I didn’t…”

Weems’ words cut out and he wheezed, face slowly turning a deep, dull red as his flailing arms grew clumsy and weak. Steve wanted to keep pressing, until the guy had no more air in his lungs and he might have. Weems’ tongue started to protrude out of his mouth, when suddenly it was Danny’s face there, bruised and bloody, and Steve pulled his arm off of Weems with a jerk. Both of them gasped for air, then.

“You _lōlō_ ,” Weems said after a moment. He tried to wiggle out from under Steve, curling slightly to the left. “Fucking _lōlō_.”

“You have no idea what crazy is,” Steve said. “I can show you if you want.”

Steve smiled, dark and menacing, at the way Weems whimpered and continued to protect his injured side. He swung his leg over so he knelt by Weems rather than straddled, efficiently pulling the guy’s arms back and securing him in cuffs. He got to his feet and yanked Weems up, frogmarched him back to the shoddy, ground-level apartment. He was a little surprised to find Chin and Kono still there. Chin was escorting a slovenly man maybe in his mid-twenties into the main living space from parts Steve didn’t want to know details about but would find out in the search. Kono was poking about the main room with gloved hands.

“Hey, Steve,” Kono said. Her eyes flicked to Weems’ neck, then to Steve’s face, then back down. She pursed her lips, but didn’t mention the obvious redness at their suspect’s throat. “You’re not going to believe this.”

Steve spared half a glance at Chin’s guy, then he swept the room. It was filled with junk, obviously a primary hangout if not shared apartment. Old food cartons filled the countertops and sink and it was as filthy a place as he’d ever seen. He scowled. 

“They’re here. How many?”

“Three including your guy,” Chin said from the short hallway into the back rooms of the apartment. He disappeared into a room, still talking. “These two made it as far as the closet door in their escape attempt.”

Chin re-emerged, hauling the third one out. He looked incredibly young. Shit, though, he bore a few battle scars just like the other two. Bruises and scratches weren’t proof outright, thought they sent more spikes of pride through him. He’d always known Danny was a scrapper, though he usually chose alternative means. Steve was sure one of these other two would match the DNA Danny had gotten in his defensive struggle.

They had DNA, but they could always use additional hard evidence. Steve wanted this airtight, to not rely on them rolling on each other. He shoved Weems onto the sofa next to his as-yet-nameless friend and brushed past Chin and the kid to head into the apartment’s interior. These guys might be on something most of the time, but he doubted they’d mistake a closet for an exit. He ducked into the bedroom, a wreck of dirty clothes, a mattress plopped in the middle on the floor, frameless. He opened the closet door and found three dark hooded sweatshirts on top of yet another pile of clothes. Torn. Bloody. He crouched, right hand clutching the door knob to keep himself from falling on his butt. Peeking out of one of the hoodies’ pockets was the handle of a knife. 

“HPD’s here. These really our guys?” Kono said quietly, like she needed someone to say it out loud.

“Yeah,” Steve said. He didn’t have the sense of relief he’d expected, no real vindication. He stared at the knife for a long while, but in the end didn’t touch it. He stood and stepped back, pointed at it. “I’m more than sure they are.”

Kono pushed her way into the doorway with him, giving an unhappy hiss as she saw the knife. She leaned down and, without the hesitation he’d displayed, took the handle between thumb and forefinger and gently tugged it free. It was a switchblade, illegal but not a weapons charge that would impact the case all that much. Kono released the blade, and made another unhappy sound at what it revealed.

“Shit.” Kono shot a look at Steve, a sanity check. “Looks like we’ve got our weapon.”

Shit was right. The knife hadn’t been wiped clean well or at all; it was streaked with dried blood. Danny’s blood, had to be. It took all Steve had to not barrel back out to their perps and pound their damned faces into pulp before HPD could read them the rights he didn’t believe any of them deserved. Kono must have sensed it, as she stood and placed a hand gently on his elbow. 

“Smoking gun will do all the work,” she murmured. “Don’t lose it now. They’ve handed it right to us.”

Steve suspected she was talking to herself as much as him, and didn’t call her on it. Neither of them would do something to jeopardize this, no matter how strong the temptation was and it was most definitely strong. His mind automatically supplied images which hadn’t appeared on the ATM footage, the switchblade, so sharp, sliding into Danny’s flesh and puncturing his left kidney slightly. He saw Danny at the hospital, paleness making the bruises all the more stark. Now he didn’t know if he’d rather vomit or punch someone, but kept both urges behind the mask this time. 

“Yeah, they’re a regular brain trust,” Steve said. “Let’s get this done.”

Kono nodded as they were joined by the crime scene unit. She tipped her head at Steve, indicating she had it under control and would remain behind to oversee the physical evidence collection for Five-0. Any other case and they’d leave HPD to it, but this was Danny. Steve wasn’t the only one who wanted to make sure there were no oversights, no potential loopholes. Even if these guys were morons, they’d still get representation that wasn’t. 

Steve glared at the knife one last time as it was bagged and tagged, then left. As he reentered the living space, Weems and his roommates slash partners-in-crime were being led out by several unis. Weems looked pasty and he hunched over slightly. Good. He stood stiffly and watched them go. All told, it had taken a little under twenty-four hours from the time he’d gotten the call on Danny’s assault – someone at Queen’s had recognized him as a cop – to catching the assholes who’d done it. It was a fast turnaround under normal circumstances. As far as Steve was concerned, it had been twenty-three hours and forty-five minutes too slow. 

“We got any ID on the other two?” Steve asked, as if having names would make any difference now.

“Hey,” Chin said from across the room. “Yeah. Brothers, Lenny and Frankie Apuna and get this – Lenny’s eighteen, Frankie almost seventeen.”

“Shit, they’re younger than I thought. Kids.”

“Kids who perpetrated multiple thefts, assaults, and are in possession of a lot of ice.” Chin pointed to the unhidden drugs. “Not to mention attempted murder. Hell of a list of first offenses. Makes you wonder how they ended up like this.” 

“Not sure I give a fuck, to be honest,” Steve said, grimacing at the side-eyed look one of the CSU guys shot him. “The fact is, one of three was holding the knife when they stabbed Danny. All of the three kicked the ever-loving shit out of him before that. Kids hopped up on who knows what are just as dangerous as adults.”

Chin nodded and moved to the coffee table, riffling through a mound of papers. He lifted his left hand, a pair of wallets in it. After a quick glance at them, he said, “These belong to a couple of the victims. It doesn’t look like any of the cards have been touched.”

“HPD would have cracked the case open a long time ago if they’d tried to use them.”

“I don’t see any of the other purses or Danny’s wallet, but I don’t doubt any of them are here. These guys are an exercise in contradiction.” Chin frowned some more. “They were smart enough to not use the credit cards, but not smart enough to toss the evidence. At least they’re making it easy on us.”

“I doubt there’s room for logic here,” Steve said absently, thinking there had been nothing easy about this. Emotionally, anyway, and not for any of them. “We just gotta use what they so generously left for us to make sure they go away for a long time.”

It felt wrong that he actually hoped the youngest one had used the knife, if only for the simple reason he might be charged as an adult then. Maybe that was vindictive. Steve wasn’t above vindictiveness when it came to lowlifes that had tried to kill his friend. If that was all Danny was. He’d never been this unsettled by a friend’s injuries before, and he’d seen far worse than Danny had endured. Danny, he realized, was different. Danny had entered his life when Steve had desperately needed someone like him, someone to distract and irritate and provoke admiration all at the same time. A best friend and father figure rolled into one, plus that little bit more, all of which made him a giant psychological cesspool.

He felt Chin’s eyes on him and made sure to tamp down those thoughts. He headed to the mess on the small table near the door, snaring a pair of gloves from one of the CSU guys. Shifting through junk – papers, bills, more food containers and loose change, this place was a sty – he found nothing surprising. Then he spotted Danny’s wallet, lying there splayed open. Steve picked it up, ran his thumb across the smooth leather. Though it looked untouched just like the others, when he saw Grace’s smiling face peering back at him from last year’s school picture, it nearly doubled him over. He braced a hand against the wall and closed his eyes, unaccountably angry, like it had been Grace herself held here, like it was a violation. 

“Steve?” Kono said, at his side all of a sudden. “You okay?”

“Found Danny’s wallet,” Steve said, straightening. He closed the wallet to hide Grace’s face, then took a deep breath. “There might have been more assailants in on this that we don’t know about. CSU and HPD can finish here, let’s go have a chat with Weems and the Apuna brothers.”

“Or,” Chin said, also steady and next to him, “Kono and I can handle them, while you go.”

“I have to finish this.”

“It’s already finished.” Chin took the wallet from Steve’s fingers. “Go.”

The commander in him said no, that he had to see the case through to the end. The rest of him said yes, that the only thing that would really end it was Danny being okay. It should have been disconcerting how quickly he caved, but Steve simply nodded and went.

H50H50H50

Steve leaned against the doorframe, silently watching. The difference between yesterday and today was astounding and he was filled with relief, but also noticed how slowly Danny moved, how much discomfort he obviously felt. He would be a liar if he said if the pained hisses, geriatric movements and colorful palette of bruises didn’t serve as a damning souvenir of what his partner had gone through less than two days ago, and more to the point, why. He knew he should be celebrating that Danny was up and mobile so soon after a knife had nicked a kidney, and a big part of him was. Part of him was also stuck in that loop of guilt. Beyond even that was the deeper realization of feelings – possibly mixed up, untenable feelings – he still wasn’t sure what to do with. He cringed at the way Danny struggled, but didn’t offer to help. He knew what it was to be injured, and the need to do things himself.

“Don’t be ridiculous, McGarrett,” Danny grumbled as he stepped into a pair of slippahs, leaning on the bed for support. He stared down at his toes, wiggled them and grimaced. “Your misplaced guilt is so palpable I can feel it from over here. If it keeps up, it’ll impede my recovery and that, my friend, would be something I’d have no qualms blaming you for.”

Yes, Steve thought, that was much, much better. 

_Steve studied his partner closely. He couldn’t help but remember visiting Danny after the sarin incident, when he’d sounded groggy but looked fine with startling speed. He knew that wouldn’t be the case here, yet in some way maybe he had hoped. Despite the assurances the doctor had given him upon his arrival, Danny didn’t look much better tonight than he had yesterday. His skin tone was two shades on the wrong side of healthy and he was too motionless. The bruises visible on face and arms had settled into deeper colors. A day’s worth of beard growth made it all look worse. He’d watched Danny get most of these injuries too many times to count, had seen worse happen to others right in front of him, but none of that had steeled him for the reality of it._

_All the residual adrenaline he had from the chase and arrest dumped right out of him. Steve pulled a chair close to the bed and rested his elbows on the edge of the mattress, a mess of shaky limbs and scattered thoughts. The part of his brain still functioning hoped Danny would wake up and yell at him for jostling the bed. It didn’t happen. Of course it didn’t. The doctor had said someone had been by just before him and had worn Danny out, someone described as a large man with an expressive face. Kamekona did have a way of getting under Danny’s skin. Steve felt a pang of new guilt for not having come sooner, when others had made time. Jesus, he was a mess. He leaned down, rested his forehead against his folded arms and closed his eyes for a moment._

_A touch on his shoulder made him jerk upright, neck strangely sore and arms wooden._

_“What? Danny?”_

_A quick glance showed him that Danny was still sleeping, and that Chin and Kono both stood next to him now. Steve scrunched his forehead, confused at first and then a little irritated._

_“I thought you guys were handling the interviews,” Steve said. “What’re you doing here?”_

_“We’re done, Steve,” Chin said quietly. “It only took a couple of hours to wrap up.”_

_“A couple of hours.” Steve glanced at his watch. Oh. He’d fallen asleep. “Oh.”_

_“How’s he doing?” Kono asked, her attention on Danny. “He looks a little better.”_

_“Doc said things look good. He’ll be released tomorrow, on mostly bed rest. That’s about all I really got from her.” Steve stood and worked some of the kinks out. He’d reached the point where a couple of hours of sleep actually made him feel like hammered shit instead of plain old regular shit. “How’d it go on your end?”_

_“They sang like canaries,” Chin said, with a hint of satisfaction. “Danny’ll probably be offended when he hears how easily they were caught.”_

_“Danny’s offended you woke him up,” Danny mumbled, sounding more than usual like he had marbles in his mouth, “but in no way upset you caught the punks.”_

_“Danny.”_

_He, Chin and Kono all spoke and moved closer to the bed in unison. Steve had thought having Danny awake would make the horrible state he was in more bearable. It was a bad assumption. Danny’s eyes were bleary and bloodshot, fatigue and probably at least mild painkillers combined. Somehow, it made Danny seem even more fragile._

_“Good to see you awake, though,” Chin said. He put his right hand on Danny’s shoulder. “I’d ask how you’re feeling, but, brah, you look … well.”_

_“Yeah, need more beauty rest, huh?” Danny grinned. Sort of. “I’m still foggy. Much as I want to hear the whole story, I’m probably not gonna last long, sorry.”_

_“We’re just glad you’re going to be all right,” Kono said._

_The point was moot anyway, as a few seconds later a nurse popped in and informed them that visiting hours were over and requested they kindly leave. Steve was okay with the interruption. He’d like Danny stronger before he had to deal with anything to do with the case._

_“Take care, you.” Kono leaned and pressed a quick kiss to Danny’s forehead._

_Chin gently squeezed Danny’s shoulder with one hand and flashed shaka with the other._

_Less inclined to follow that particular hospital policy, Steve stayed rooted in place while the others made for the door. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had bucked that rule, and he’d use his position of authority if it came to it. He doubted it would. Seeing the way Danny could only blearily track Chin and Kono as they left made him frown, guilt warring with the protective streak he’d feel for any person on his team, but more so for Danny._

_“Get the hell out of here, Steve,” Danny murmured, head lolling on the pillow, like it was too heavy, even, to keep straight. He blinked slowly, eyes slightly unfocused but expression strange in a different way as well._

_“Danny.”_

_“No, I mean it. Go.”_

_Steve cringed and took a shuffling step back. Apparently, the blame wasn’t just in his head. He should have anticipated it, but he hadn’t and it made him feel slightly sick. He nodded mutely and turned to go, feeling like something pressed heavily on his shoulders. He also felt a warm hand circle around his wrist._

_“Hey,” Danny said. “Make sure you get lots of sleep. You look worse than I feel. And mind giving me a ride tomorrow?”_

“Are you listening to me?” Danny said, snapping his fingers twice. “Hey. I know what’s going through that thick skull of yours. For fuck’s sake, I was going to get cash for dinner anyway. Don’t be so you. Not everything falls on your damnably broad shoulders.”

Steve smiled. He didn’t want to dwell, and he didn’t want to think about the way Danny was able to read him despite having been unconscious or doped up for the better part of two days and how that made him feel good instead of embarrassed. A full night’s sleep after seeing Danny awake and reasonably well, all things considered, had done a lot to clear his head. He’d probably feel twinges of guilt until the most noticeable of Danny’s injuries faded, but that snark of his partner’s might just be the stuff of magic. It always had had that effect on him, right from the start, and what a wholly odd thing to fall for. His smile just got broader. 

“Seriously.” Danny waved his right arm in the air, wincing only slightly. “You in there?”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else, Danny,” Steve said. Truer words. “Can’t a guy just appreciate the dulcet tones of your voice for a minute?”

Danny, now seated in the hospital-mandated discharge wheelchair, stared at him, mouth open as if many, many more words were prepared to make an escape. For a moment, those words failed him. Then he gave a lopsided kind of smile that told of how many drugs were still flowing through his bloodstream. Also telling was his lack of protest for the wheelchair.

“Dulcet tones, huh?”

“You’re positively melodic.”

“I’m touched. Really, I had no idea you were so taken with my voice.” Danny shifted in the seat so most of his weight was on his right, his left arm tucked close to his torso as if to guard. “But I swear they charge about forty bucks every time a nurse looks at you, a hundred and fifty for a doctor, not to mention how much it costs for drugs, not that I’m disparaging their use, but holy shit. Can we please go before I’m completely bankrupted, here?”

That might sound like Danny’s brand of grouchy exaggeration, but Steve knew that it wasn’t so far off from the truth. He himself was covered pretty well by his TRICARE plan; it was appalling, though, how quickly the expenses racked up. He frowned. He knew his financial situation was a bit better than Danny’s.

“I coul…”

“Don’t. Do not even say those words,” Danny said. “But you can bet your sweet ass I am, on this one occasion, stiffing you on that bet, okay?”

He paused on his trek over to Danny’s side, almost doubled over at the reintroduction of that topic. He knew he must not have pulled himself back fast enough.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. We both know you totally rigged it anyway. Hence, me stiffing you.”

If asked, there was no way Steve would be able to explain just how much he enjoyed the Danny Williams rollercoaster. Really, it should have occurred to him long ago that his feelings were what they were, and why Danny had become so vital to him. 

“I don’t mind if you stiff me, Danny.” Steve realized how that sounded only after it was already out there. He rolled with it, because maybe now was as good a time as any. He smiled lazily. “Really.” 

Danny shot him that same strange look he’d used last night, then chewed on the inside of his lip for a second. Then he blinked.

“Can we please go? I need a nap already.”

“As you wish,” Steve said, adding a little bow to go with his smile.

Danny’s look got even stranger, more discomfiting.

Uncertain now what to do with the awkward moment he’d created himself, Steve skirted around to the back of the wheelchair. He pushed Danny out of the room, and kept tabs on how his partner leaned more and more on the right armrest. Danny might be getting out of the hospital, but he had a long way to go yet. He knew better than anyone how even injuries that were not life threatening could take their toll. He had no doubt Danny would be up and at it if he had to be – he was a tough guy, contrary to his griping – so the plan was for there not to be a reason for him to do so. Chin and Kono supported the plan. No work for Danny. 

He was glad, too, that he’d brought the Marquis. The truck would have required too much of a climb. He rolled Danny all the way to the car and quickly returned the wheelchair. By the time he got back, Danny had his head tipped back and looked to be dozing lightly. Steve took the opportunity to give him another once over. He pursed his lips as he remembered with crystal clarity each and every blow that corresponded with the cuts and bruises. He had long ago stopped needing to watch the footage to see it, but having Danny this close made it all come back, but in living color. Living being the optimal word. 

He almost reached out and traced his thumb across Danny’s cheek, and realized with some alarm that he hadn’t given Danny any kind of physical sign that he was happy he was okay. That, for some reason, made him pull back. He started the car, realizing belatedly that the roar of the old engine was disruptively loud. Sure enough, Danny roused, lifting his head and squinting over to Steve. 

“Sorry,” Steve said, put the car in gear and got them on the road. He rested his elbow on the armrest, steered with his left hand.

“Don’t be. For _anything_ ,” Danny said, serious.

Startled by the weight with which that was said, simple words loaded and implicitly more complex, Steve glanced at Danny. Eyes clear and beautiful amid all the ugly purple bruises decorating a face. There wasn’t a trace of painkiller bleariness to them, and they were sharp with something he wanted to name hope. Danny had received the message Steve hadn’t explicitly stated, and at the very least wasn’t rejecting it. The moment felt big. Important. Any response Steve had stuck in his throat.

Then Danny said, “Unless this fucking car breaks down again. You’ll be sorry if that happens, because I’m not pushing this beast today, Steven.”

The comment was so Danny that Steve couldn’t contain his laughter. That amazing light feeling Danny’s snark always provoked in him, the one that should have told him everything he needed to know, flowed through him. It took him a while to realize Danny had reached out and grasped his forearm. Steve’s laughter subsided; the good feeling did not. Danny’s hold on him, literal and figurative, felt right. It felt like a reminder of something good for a change. He’d expected an emotional release when this was all over, but he didn’t expect it to be a good one. Danny let go of him eventually, but left his own arm on the rest. Everything else, what direction he thought it might go, could wait. With their arms pressed against each other’s comfortably, he was simply happy to have Danny there with him, rough around the edges and so very much alive.


End file.
